


A Christmas Visit

by AmberSkye



Series: Christine and Erik make a long distance relationship work and other adventures [1]
Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, all this is in backstory form though, erik is his own warning, this is mostly them talking about nice things, tw for homelessness, tw for neglect, tw for past drug abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-13 06:35:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12978189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmberSkye/pseuds/AmberSkye
Summary: Modern!Christine/Erik. They've been talking on voice chat for a year now. On impulse for Christmas Eve, she decides to show up on the doorstep of a man whose name she doesn't know. What could go wrong?Or, a love story in two days. Special guests Nadir, who is tired of this shit, and Meg, who loves this shit.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [【中文翻译】A Christmas visit 圣诞访客](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14199135) by [SueandRabbit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SueandRabbit/pseuds/SueandRabbit)



> Don't ask me how technology actually works.

Christine had not thought she was going to get this far, to be honest. She was standing outside, in the cold, on Christmas Eve, in New York. Her jacket over a sweater over a shirt was not with a scarf and mittens were rapidly failing at providing enough warmth as the heat she was blasting in the car wore off. She should knock and get it over with. He’d answer or he wouldn’t, then she would either be back in her car or in his house and it would be warm.  
Was this being too forward? It’s a little late now, Christine, she scolded herself. Finally, with a huff that created a visible steam in the air, she knocked on the door. There was no answer, even though a light downstairs had clicked on. She knocked again. If he had been out, she would have fled and pretended this never happened. As it was, she found herself rather annoyed. Did he look through the peephole and decide to ignore her? He must’ve, or else he wouldn’t have come downstairs at all. And why did he need two floors just for himself, anyway? She crossed her arms and then got the idea to pull out her phone and open the Skype app. There he was, her only contact, his picture some random piano image pulled off the internet. She pressed call, and he picked up almost immediately.

Time for a flashback. She had started talking to MusicTheorist when he’d posted lyric analysis on one of those sites where you could click the lines and get more information. He had been completely wrong, so she issued a correction. He’d changed it back. She emailed him. This led, somehow, past their argument and onto debate about other songs, other genres, and eventually a shared passion for music. 

It had started over email, but finally they got Skype to make things simpler since they often wrote in annoyed half sentences without punctuation. Well, she did. He used ‘proper grammar’ like he was writing an essay. Anyway. It was months later when she finally was brave enough to mention she was a singer. He demanded voice chat to hear her sing. She refused, embarrassed, but finally wheedled him into agreeing to play violin for her if she sang. 

And it was rude to just not talk afterwards, so they heard each other’s voices and ended up talking like that anytime they had more than a few minutes. She would chat in between classes, after she got home from campus, in classes, sometimes -- he didn’t seem to keep any sort of schedule, though she’d never asked. He was probably a boss and could very well talk on his cell at work if he liked. He seemed the type. 

Eventually, after mentioning it was too cold at 50 degrees, he laughed at her and teased, ‘Try coming to New York for one of our winters,’ and the idea was born. He dismissed it as impossible, as never going to happen, but when he said he wouldn’t be celebrating Christmas Eve, and Meg was with family out of town, and she was more or less alone -- sad, she would admit it -- she said she was going to show up. He gave her his address, and they made no more mention of it. He thought she was kidding. She was determined. She wanted to meet him so badly, and they literally did not know each other’s real names. Her username was AngelofMusic, so he just called her Angel. Sometimes mon ange, which was really sweet. 

Flashback over. “Angel, how are you?”  
“I’m cold. I’m outside.”  
“Like I’ve said, be grateful you are not here. There was snow on my front porch this morning.”  
“It’s a puddle now.”  
“Most likely. How are you this afternoon, other than cold?  
“Erik, I mean I’m outside your house. Open the door, it’s freezing.”  
“Y-you--” she had never heard him do a double take like that. She laughed a little, then looked at her phone when she heard him hang up on her. She snorted in amusement. Finally, she heard the chain lock slide open and the bottom lock click into place, and the door was yanked open hard enough some dew that had collected on the top sprinkled off. So this was her mysterious friend. He was tall, and thin. Too thin, or at least his height made it seem so. He was fully dressed, black pants and a long sleeve black sweater of some kind that looked rather formal. He had shoes on. Of course he was one of those guys that wore shoes in his own house. And then, most prominently, he had on a mask. It was black, from lower forehead to upper chin, and had holes for his eyes and mouth. It seemed custom, not some kind of prop or prank. And it wasn’t a ski or hockey mask, so she probably wasn’t about to be robbed or killed with a machete. A few strands of hair were in front of it. He had silky black hair, down to his shoulders.

She’d been staring too long, but he wasn’t talking either. Okay. So her friend was mysterious and weird and had a mask and wore shoes inside. But she went to university, you met all sorts there too, especially in theater design. So she put on her best smile, stuck out her hand, and said, “I’m Christine. Pleasure to meet you.”  
“Christine,” he tried the name out. Oh, she hoped he would say it often in that musical voice of his, now that it was undistorted by audio quality or lag. “The pleasure is mine.” He seemed to hesitate, or stumble over how to introduce himself. “Erik,” he decided, and shook her hand. He was wearing gloves too, finer than her WalMart bin ones. They were probably cashmere.  
She couldn’t help but grin. “May I come inside?”  
“Of course, yes,” he said while ducking his head. Cute. She’d really surprised him, he was so suave over voice chat that it was reassuring to know he was a human being.  
“Thank you.” She breathed a sigh of relief when the door closed behind her and they were enveloped in warmth. Really warm, in fact, he must have had his heat cranked way up. She was always more frugal with the electric bill in mind. “I am sorry for dropping in like this. I wanted it to be a Christmas surprise! But it was a little forward, and some people don’t much like surprises.”  
“I am not a fan.”  
“Oh.” It was her turn to duck her head and hide behind her hair. This was a bad idea. Why would anyone want to be dropped in on so unexpectedly? It wasn’t like her and Meg, where they were practically siblings. She had bought a plane ticket, for Pete’s sake!  
“No, that came out wrong. I usually hate surprises, but I am very glad you are here. You should never apologize for your presence, Christine.”  
Oh my god, there was that suaveness she remembered. But now he could see her blush as her eyes darted to his in surprise. She was not a terrible blusher, nothing splotchy, but she always blushed up to her ears. “You’re really sure? You don’t mind? Don’t have to go to work?”  
“Not at all. I work as an architect from home. Your Christmas Eve dinner will have to be frozen ravioli, though,” he mused dryly.  
She clapped her hands together. “I can cook! I don’t mean to come and raid your pantry. I’ll go shopping, and make anything you like.”  
“You dealt with the airport during the holidays and would now brave the supermarket for me?”  
She laughed. She loved his humor. She always imagined there would be a raised eyebrow, like Spock did, but she couldn’t tell even if he was making a face. He’d frowned when he realized she was looking, so she played it off like she had been considering it. “Well. . .for you, but only for you. Since you admit I’m right about Wicked being a good show.”  
“If I must to have you go shopping. Come sit for now, warm up.” He said this, but stood still for a long moment like considering what to do with her. He finally came to a decision and they passed through a tasteful but not lived-in living room in white, red, and gold. There was an archway, then a short bare hall, and this time a closed door took them into a large room. “This was the main bedroom of the house when it was one storey, before I moved in,” he explained. Probably to fill the silence, because she was assessing it while nodding slowly. 

The centerpiece of the room was a grand piano placed facing the corner on the opposite side of the door. The window facing the road was covered with thick curtains, but the one out the side of the house was letting light in onto the piano and rug it was on. On the top were stacks sheets of music paper filled with red pen, There was a long couch here, this one worn like it was actually used, directly to her left. Against the rest of the walls were filled bookshelves, and in the rest of the floor space on their own rug was a violin case and guitar stand.  
“This is perfect.” She said. “I mean, that was strange to say. What I mean was this is what I imagined when I thought about where you might live. It’s lovely.” Way to be awkward, Christine.  
“I appreciate that greatly,” he said smoothly. She had nothing else to say in her embarrassment, so she took a seat but was startled into nearly jumping back to her feet when she heard a loud meow. “Ayesha, you shouldn’t be in here,” Erik said in the way of someone who had this argument very often.  
She giggled. A gorgeous short haired cat stalked out from behind the couch and sniffed around her legs. She held her hand out to her to smell, which she did quite thoroughly. She licked Christine’s hand once, just a dart of tongue, and meowed once before jumping in the girl’s lap. “What a wonderful girl you are, how pretty, good girl!” she fawned as the cat now made herself comfortable and began purring as Christine ran fingers over her head and shoulders. “I’ve always wanted a cat, but the apartment landlord doesn’t allow them or dogs. Just ‘indoor pets’ no matter how many times I’ve told her you should keep a cat inside in a town anyway and it wouldn’t go outside.

“I think Ayesha has chosen you over me, you might be taking her home anyway.”  
“Nonsense, I’m just new and smell weird so I’m interesting. She’ll be ignoring me by the end of the day,” she reassured with a wave of the hand.  
It seemed to sate Erik, and there was a shift upwards in his mask like maybe he was smiling? She wasn’t sure. “I’ll go get us drinks. What would you like?”  
“Oh, anything at all, just make sure its hot!” she said with another laugh. “Mind if I take off my coat?”  
“Make yourself at home, if Ayesha has already approved of you I must too.”  
“Just now? Not over our year of conversation?” She faked an affronted tone, but had to smile as he waved a hand and left to get them refreshments. Carefully so as not to disturb Ayesha, she pulled off hat and gloves and shuffled out of her coat, dumping them on the seat beside her. Erik returned with a small but heavy teapot, it looked handmade with decorative motifs in the metal. It was on a tray with matching teacups, small but sturdy and with no saucers, as well as a small bowl of brown sugar cubes. “How gorgeous, what a nice set. It looks almost handmade!”  
“Almost?”  
“Well, they’re a little too even to be made by hand, right? That’s how you can usually tell.”  
“I’ve never been told my work was too precise, so I’ll just take it as a compliment.”  
Christine gasped. “You made it? Out of what? Where did you go? Do you need, like, a forge for this? But then how do you make the insides? Wouldn’t paint just melt? Oh I’m sorry, do sit down. Of course. It’s your couch.” She was blushing again, but she scooted her clothes pile towards her. Ayesha hopped down in annoyance at all the kerfuffle and disappeared behind the couch again. 

Thankfully, Erik laughed. It was a wonderful sound that made her relax immediately. It was such a rich sound, and it was hard to pull more than a chuckle out of him. She chuckled now, and he did sit down, though as far from her seat as possible on the couch to pour. He dropped two cubes of sugar into his tea, but she was happy to see what it tasted like plain first. She was still looking expectantly at him, so he set the cup down and began explaining.  
“It is brass, and it is very simple to make. It was made out of household parts, in fact. Rather, parts of any metalsmith’s house, not my own or yours. It is cast brass, so there was no shaping on my part excepting to make the container which I poured the brass in. The decorating was the work that required the most concentration.”  
She breathed a sigh of appreciation. “So you’re not only a math and music genius, but you’re also an artist? What’s next?”  
He paused as if actually thinking about it. “Well, you are here, so perhaps this was a sign. I would like to give you a voice lesson.”  
“Ah, right. Excellent teacher.”  
“Only because you are a worthy student. But what I would like is to sing a piece with you, if that is alright?”  
She blinked a few times. She had no idea he could sing. “I had no idea you could sing.” He also made it sound almost intimate, like singing a duet was an innuendo. But since he was still practically clinging to the other side of the couch and had made no move to clear the coat from between them, she seriously doubted that. “I would love to,” she said honestly.  
“That means much to me. Perhaps. . .” he shuffled through papers, “This piece?”  
She read through it in her head, the music playing quickly through her head as she did. It was something like a operatic folk song, fast paced but meant for a female soprano. It would be tough. “This is great, I’ll try my best. I will need to warm up first.”  
“Certainly, go through your scales. I practice in the mornings, so I will be fine.”  
“Okay. Who composed these, by the way? Are they the original? I don’t see a signature let alone a copyright symbol,” she asked before beginning to sing.  
“I composed them.”  
It was only his training that kept her from breaking her note by gasping. “You really are a genius!” 

He didn’t seem to know how to respond to that, so she kept practicing and sipped her tea until he came to stand beside her at the piano and corrected her posture as usual. “Back straighter, shoulders back. One day I am not going to have to tell you.”  
“You usually don’t have to,” she argued weakly.  
“Hmm.”  
“Well.” She picked up her copy of the sheet, counted herself off in her head, and began to sing of a small girl that had gotten lost in London, but it must have been from another time, or at least read and sounded like the fantastic or historical. She went on adventures with another lost girl she had met, and was being convinced that she should stay with her forever. Christine had heard enough metaphors in literature to recognize one, but was too focused to ponder that. And then came Erik’s part. He was a young man there to rescue both girls.

His voice soared. Christine’s next breath in was more of a gasp at how beautiful it was, but she only faltered a little. The song progressed. The two little girls were saved and happy, but as they aged became jealous for the boy’s attention, and ended up both dying a la Romeo and Juliet, and the young man’s heart was hardened from saving people ever again, the end. There were tears in her eyes at Erik’s tone of great grief, loss, and then unhappiness and callousness. Her part over, she didn’t realize she was inching towards him, enraptured. He sung with his eyes closed, and when he opened them they widened a little at seeing her only a foot away from him. She smiled sheepishly but he was already speaking. “I had not meant to make you cry,” he said anxiously.  
“No, it was beautiful, Erik. Is it -- is it complete?”  
“Yes, why do you ask?”  
“It’s just, those girls were young and foolish, and so is the man. When he grows up, surely he would find out he was wrong to lock his heart. Another verse could be added? Or, or perhaps a sequel song?” She entreated.  
Erik frowned. She decided she was right about the shifting of mask for smile and frown, although anything else was lost on her. “It doesn’t seem likely. Even if he were willing, he was irrevocably changed by the experience.”  
“That’s true. The new woman wouldn’t be just anyone. After a long time of searching, even if he doesn’t know that’s what he’s doing, he would find her. . . but that’s just how I would write it. I love the song, Erik.”  
“But it makes you sad.”  
“Yes, but its such a potent view of the human condition. So often when we are hurt we retreat, even in small ways, just like in the song.” Right about then something clicked and she thought that it may not be exactly as deep of a metaphor as she thought it was. She worried her lip nervously. “Hold on, I promised Meg I would give her an update.”  
“Your roommate the dance major?”  
“Yeah! She’s out of town too, but wanted to make sure you didn’t axe murder me and that I make it to a hotel safe and everything. Speaking of, its about time for dinner. Want to come shopping with me?”  
“I do not leave the house often. You go, I will set up the kitchen.” 

Christine winced. Open mouth, insert foot. She was going to get herself in trouble one day for speaking without thinking. “Sounds good, I’ll see you in a few,” she said, and busied herself with bundling up to brave the cold once more. Christmas Eve at around this time at the store was actually calm, because it was after lunch and too late for people to be buying dinner.  
“Change in plans?” A sympathetic cashier asked when she toted the food to the register.  
She laughed with a little huff as she set the things down on the belt. “You can say that. I was in California this morning.”  
The cashier whistled. “That is a change.”  
“And you, you had to work?”  
She shrugged. “We get holiday pay, and family Christmas is tomorrow. My best friends work here too and don’t celebrate, so we’re enjoying watching all the idiots who didn’t buy things ahead of time. I say that ‘cause I know you’re an exception.”  
She laughed. “I get it. Alright, my friend better have the oven preheated by the time I’m back. Have a good evening!”  
The cashier waved as she loaded the bags onto her arms and walked out into the cold once more, humming carols. 

When she got back, she was lugging too many bags to knock and it’s not like Erik didn’t know she would be right back, so she just opened the door and walked in before hearing Erik’s voice. “I am not lying to you. Why would I bother?” She assumed he was talking to Ayesha, so kept walking and made it to the kitchen door. Where she saw Erik and the back of someone else, a man with dark skin about the same height as her, bundled even more for cold than she was.  
“Um. I apologize, did I have bad timing after all?”  
“No, Christine. Let me help you with those. This is Nadir Khan, and he was just leaving.”  
Christine smiled brightly. “Oh, it’s good to meet you. I’ve heard your name before.” She let Erik take her bags and stuck a hand out to shake.  
“All bad things?”  
She snorted lightly. “No, only mostly. No, no, I’m teasing. From what I understand you’re a very good friend, and I will not kick you out. I have plenty of food! You can help cook. Three isn’t too many in a nice clean kitchen like this one.” Erik was waving his hands in the universal symbol for ‘no’ and she only smiled wider.  
“Why, I would be delighted.”  
Erik loudly sighed. “I have no say in this? In my own home?”  
“Hmm. Nope!” she laughed, gauging Erik’s reaction. It was to get another plate and silverware, so she relaxed and smiled, looking over to Nadir with a grin. The three filed into the kitchen and she was soon giving instructions. She was pleased to find out that they both knew what they were doing quite well. “This is wonderful, truly. You can both cook. If I told you to julian this zucchini would you know what I mean?”  
“Certainly. Google is a marvel,” Erik said dryly. She swatted his shoulder lightly with a giggle, more a brush of hand on fabric than anything else. He took a long moment to watch her, she could feel his eyes on her back even as she turned to clean the chicken she had bought in lieu of waiting for a turkey to bake.  
Nadir said something in Persian in a low tone. “Nah,” Erik said harshly, in a way that led Christine to believe that was ‘no’ in Persian. “And it is rude to speak another language in front of a guest.”  
“That’s okay. You two must have much to catch up on. I hadn’t realized you were in New York, Nadir.”  
“It is a new development. I haven’t been here long, but Erik is trying to get rid of me.”  
“What would you do here? Reminisce about the lovely hours of the Mandazeren?” The tone was caustic. She hadn’t even known he had been to Persia until today, let alone what he did there.  
“If you would speak to me about it--”  
“There is nothing to say. It is over. I am here. You are too, so at least you’re alive.”  
“But have you--”  
Now it was Erik’s turn to speak in a flurry of Persian. He spoke the accented words perfectly, and it was as pretty to the ear as it was terrifying. Nadir looked actually nervous, and she stood at attention when she heard her name enter the conversation. After, Nadir said nothing. “I apologize for the outburst, Christine. Some ground rules had to be set.”  
Her lips were twisted down, and she nodded. “I do apologize if my presence means you can’t speak freely, either of you. After dinner, perhaps, I could leave early, or. . .”  
“No, I would not hear of it. It is good for Erik to have your company.” Nadir protested.  
“And yours, I believe, despite the touchy subject.”  
The Persian man’s eyes crinkled at that and looked almost watery. She smiled and went to check on the green bean casserole.

Dinner went more smoothly. Erik complimented her cooking, she complimented his and Nadir’s, Nadir complimented them both, and a small head nod made Erik speak up and thank Nadir as well, if dryly. It was a small dinner, perfect for the three of them and some leftovers for Nadir to take home. They had a cup of coffee afterwards as well, on the subject of safer things like her schooling and upcoming graduation in May, his job search in America and path to becoming a police officer here, similar to his job in Persia. She grilled Erik about his job, too. He did pretty much everything, it seemed, and the foreman at the physical location just pointed workers around. Even when they had construction problems instead of the hotline they often just emailed him because his answers were faster and less painful to interpret. Apparently troubleshooting was always like getting teeth pulled.

It was almost domestic. Erik turned on the gas fireplace in the unused living room and they actually used it, so it must have looked like a very strange Christmas card. She felt warm, inside as well as out, that she was sharing in Erik’s life like this. She hit it off with Nadir, she got the looks he sent her and he understood her tones, like the quintessential ‘girl language’ was open to him. Christine saw him off at the door, and noticed how late it was getting. She returned to the couch more reserved. “This has been a wonderful day.”  
“It has.” He sounded almost surprised.  
“I don’t really want to go,” she admitted, valiently not blushing.  
“I am sure you have a life to get back to.”  
“Honestly, it’s winter break for another week. Meg is busy with her things. And besides, you are a really big part of my life. I talk to you more than anyone, I think.”  
“You think I am part of your life, but you don’t know me.”

His tone was dark. “Erik? What do you mean? Are you secretly a drug lord?” She tried for a joke with a weak laugh.  
He laughed once too, humorlessly. “This -- all of this,” he said, gesturing around to his home and her, “is not me.”  
“How is it not? Your home, your music, your job, your friends. . .that seems about it.”  
“For normal people. I am not normal, Christine. I have seen you looking at my mask, you know I am not.” He was angry now. His anger was a fearful thing, she shrunk back into the couch but silently cleared her throat and spoke up.  
“What is the mask for, Erik?” she asked, although she knew. It was the best place to start this conversation.  
“My face. . .to a lesser extent my body, is that of a monster.”  
She cut him off immediately. “Don’t say that,” she said forcefully.  
“Do not tell me what to say, you do not know of what you speak.”  
“Of what I speak? Uh, yes, I do. I’m talking about a who not a what, and that who is my closest friend. Don’t you think in the year I’ve talked to you almost every day for hours, even if it was on and off, about our emotional opinions of all things, that I don’t know you at all?”  
Erik was silent, she could see his jaw working and he was tensed. Whether anger or annoyance she wasn’t sure, but she crossed her arms over her chest and waited. “However you want me to word it, the mask is to hide this from a world that cannot accept it, wants me dead for it,” he said. His sounded resigned.  
“Erik, is that true?” She dropped her arms, scooted towards him on the couch.  
“More than you could ever know.” 

She reached out and touched his knee. He froze, his eyes burning into hers. In the dim lighting of night, with the firelight on them, they looked yellow. It was a supernatural effect, half eerie and half captivating. “Certainly in all your years Nadir has seen, and he is still here.”  
Erik swallowed and looked away. “He is the only one who stayed with me after seeing it, but he does not want to experience it again, I am sure.”  
“Maybe. I want to argue, but I can’t say for sure. Your family?”  
“My father died while mother was pregnant. My mother was so repulsed by me she refused to give me my father’s name, and the priest that was brought in gave me his name instead. She made me a mask before any other type of clothing. Father Erik, the priest, was kind, but disallowed me from being seen without a covering. My mother all but disowned me and I ran.”  
She couldn’t answer because her throat was thick and there were tears in her eyes. She caught his gloved hand in hers and held it. “That’s. . .terrible. Excuse my French, but fuck them,” she said with conviction. Erik looked at her again. Then he began laughing, though she thought she heard more of a sob. He looked away again. “You said you ran away. Where?”  
So quietly she had to lean in to hear him he spoke up. “They called themselves the Gypsies. It was horribly racist, of course, but as a child I didn’t know. It was like a circus troupe. All under the table, half the people in it were homeless and most of the rest lived out of a car. They charged money for the attractions, got enough out of them to eat and buy whatever kept them going, and moved on before the cops caught wind and shut them -- us -- down.”  
She nodded slowly. “And what did you do there?”  
“I-” he stopped. “It is not a good story. I will tell you, but you will not want to stay.”  
“Yes, I will.” She squeezed his hand lightly. “Please, what happened?”  
“I started by cleaning and cooking what I could, and. . .a child is not suspicious when drugs and money need to be exchanged. But then they heard me singing one night, when I thought I was alone. So they stuck me in a cage, dressed me up, and forced me to sing. After, they would rip off the mask and most of the clothes and everyone would scream and leave, or throw things. They called me the Devil’s Child. If I refused to sing they beat me. And. . . damn,” he said softly. “Please, Christine, forget this. I have not told anyone this, I cannot ruin what we have and tell you to, I promised myself you would never know, I swore--”  
“Erik.” She called lightly. She moved to sit up against him. He took a few deep breaths but leaned into her. “You can do this. I’m here for you.” 

This was not how she expected to spend this evening, but best friends knew each other’s secrets. “They would give me drugs. The lighter ones, but enough to get me hooked. I was paid in them, if you can call it pay. So they tethered me there. But finally, I had to leave. I ran. It was Nadir who found me, homeless and in withdrawls at age sixteen.” 

At age sixteen she was dating Raoul and in a normal high school, singing in a talent show and trying not to be bullied for not following the trends and always having her head in the clouds. She couldn’t even possibly imagine what Erik had to go through. “He didn’t speak English at the time, was only here on diplomatic business. And not the good kind, it was political intrigue. So he had the kind of immunity that let him agree when I begged to leave the country with him. He was only twenty-two himself, we didn’t look too strange travelling together when I had showered and dressed myself up, and he skipped any searching that would make me remove my mask. I was safer in Persia, but eventually an undocumented young man in a political scene was an asset. Nadir was assigned to keep watch on me, and I was assigned to. . .torture prisoners. Get answers. So I did. And this time they paid me money in addition to heroin.” 

Christine was breathing through her mouth so Erik couldn’t see how much she was crying, and she turned into him and embraced him. He froze. “I am. . .so sorry. Erik, I’m so sorry, that’s terrible. You -- you got away, though?”  
“Yes. Nadir had been working on it in secret, apparently. He had all the needed documents ready when the boss ordered I be the one thrown into prison, for knowing too much.”  
“And the drugs?” she whispered into his shoulder. He still had not returned her embrace.  
Erik shook his head with another harsh laugh. “That was unpleasant. But I am no longer under the influence.”  
“You are so strong, Erik. So brave, and. . .”  
“Christine, you seem to have missed the part where I tortured and killed people in disgusting ways for money,” he said evenly.  
“No, I heard. And that. . .I’m having a hard time thinking of that as an actuality right now. But I don’t take it back.” She held him tighter.  
“Christine,” he said in a broken whisper. “Please, do not do this to me. Leave if you will, but do not pretend.”  
“I’m not,” she declared. “You were right, your life was not as I thought. But that doesn’t mean all this is any less you. You are still my best friend, and Nadir is yours, and your home is how you want it for once, instead of others pulling the strings. And Ayesha wouldn’t live with just anyone,” she concluded with a watery smile.

Now he did embrace her back, pulling her against him with strong but hesitant arms. “When do you have to leave?”  
“Anytime, I don’t have reservations. Around the holidays they have last-minute specials anyway. Lets just stay here awhile.” So they did. Christine shuffled so she was more comfortable, laying her head on his shoulder. After some time she noticed him playing with the ends of her hair and she smiled. “Take your gloves off. I’m not going to mind,” she said. He pulled back, but after some time she felt a shuffling from him this time, and then very slowly, with hands she thought were trembling, he ran his fingers through her hair and let out a sigh of contentment.  
Christine mirrored him with a sigh of her own. The warmth of the fire, the soft rise and fall of Erik’s chest, and the quiet after a long day all combined and soon she had dropped off to sleep. 

She was awakened by the ringing of her phone, blasting a show tune. She took a second to reorient herself and another to smile at the blanket over her legs and pillow under her head, a third to locate Erik in the kitchen by the sound of clinking cups and answered while she looked at the phone to find it was nine o clock. “Meg, how’s it going?”  
“Oh my god, Christine, your voice is husky, girl are you busy because I can hang up--”  
She laughed. “No Meg, I was taking a nap. It was about time for me to wake up anyway if I want to sleep tonight.”  
“But what if. . .you don’t want to sleep? You always fawn over this guy, now’s your chance! Hey, what’s his name, anyway?”  
She giggled. “Not a chance, Meg. And it’s Erik. How’d it go with family?”  
“You know, everyone behaved themselves. It will be fun to see how tomorrow goes, though, we’ve got the other side coming tomorrow.”  
“Sounds like a busy mess,” she said, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. She was so glad that she’d spent it in relative peace here. “You’ll have to sneak pictures if anyone ends up doing something stupid.”  
“That’s a guarantee.” She continued on, but Erik had walked back into the room, hearing voices, and offered her a glass of water. She crinkled her eyes at him and got a look at his hands as he handed it over. They were gaunt, pale, probably more so because he covered them up. But not terrible. Long fingers, good for piano. “Christine, earth to Christine?”  
“Oh, sorry Meg.”  
“No you’re not,” she said teasingly. “Go, make a move! Love you bye!” She hung up before Christine could protest. Christine rolled her eyes and pocketed the phone. She took a long drink of the water before setting it aside.  
“That was Meg?” Erik asked.  
“Mm-hmm. Glad she woke me up. I really should go.” Christine seemed to keep saying this, but never actually made a move to do so.  
Erik licked his lips quickly. “I was looking around. I have a spare room, and found an extra toothbrush. . .”  
Christine’s large eyes widened and her lips parted a little. “Are you saying I could stay here overnight?”  
“I-- I am sorry, that was untowards of me.”  
“No, I would like that. A lot. I just meant, are you sure? I wouldn’t be a bother?”  
“Christine, you already bought me food, and are such good company. You are the opposite of a bother to me. I would have you here for longer than a short afternoon.”  
He seemed embarrassed at that, like he said more than he’d meant to. She got to her feet and hugged him again. “That sounds perfect. When do you go to sleep?”  
“Ah. . .I get sleep when I have to.”  
She laughed. “Sounds like a college student. Well, I’m more of an old lady and go to sleep at ten or so. But I’ll stay up if you’ll play music for us.”  
“Sounds like a deal.” 

She drained the rest of the water and got a refill and a slice of the pumpkin pie she’d bought, then joined him in the music room and curled up on the couch as he opened the violin case. She fell entranced by his music once more, this time watching him since she wasn’t focused on reading lyrics. She found herself leaning forward, watching the way his shoulders were relaxed but pulled back properly and his deft hands holding the bow in a way that seemed like he would drop it, the muscles in his thin hands dancing. There was a beauty to them, she thought. He was so in control of everything in his body. When he finished the song, she clapped. “May I?”  
“Certainly. I would love to hear you play.”  
She had told him of her father and her birth in Sweden, travelling the country as a child, then after papa’s death coming to live with her mother’s mother, who she called Mamman, in California where she had retired. Now she lived in her apartment with Meg, as her grandmother had passed as well. He was a violinist, and taught her everything about the instrument. She picked it up, sensing its quality immediately and humming in appreciation. She hadn’t the money for a good violin, and her father’s she kept in good condition but didn’t want to risk playing.  
She began a song she knew by heart. When the second verse started, Erik joined in by singing. Her eyes drifted close, and before she realized it the song was over and she was at his side. A smile grew on her face. “Papa would have loved to meet you and hear us play like that. I wish I could sing or play here every day with you.”  
Erik said nothing, but his hand made a motion towards hers before he dropped it back to his side, and she stepped closer and took both his hands in hers, lacing their fingers. His skin was dry and cool, but not unpleasant. After awhile the spell was broken, and it was her turn to sing a song. Time passed, until when she looked at the clock after a yawn she jumped in her seat, startling Ayesha who was on the middle cushion.

“I need sleep. I have jet lag!”  
“It was only a five hour flight, the time is only three hours off,” he pointed out dryly.  
“Yes, well, I’m a weakling.”  
He did the thing where he looked at her for a long time again. She was going to start capitalizing it. The Look. “You are not weak in any way, Christine.”  
Well that was more than enough to make her blush a little, and this time when she embraced him she gave a squeeze that she tried to convey how much that meant to her. 

He showed her to the guest room, standard fare but nice and clean. He gave her the salvaged extra toothbrush and paste, and they said their goodnights. “If I play, will I bother you? It should be quiet, up here, and I would not normally, but I have inspiration to write something.”  
“I wouldn’t dream of telling you not to play, Erik, particularly when you’re feeling creative. It will help me sleep, in all honesty.” 

Two hours later, laying in bed and just on the cusp of sleep, the thought popped into her head, I am in the home of a murderer. She knew sleep was lost, then, and stood up and looked out the window. It was cold even to stand near, outside must be like ice. She opened the window a crack, silently, eyes still darting to the closed door. He was still playing, a few keys at a time, maybe writing something between them. She stood near it and breathed in the cold air until her lips were numb, letting it take away the sudden surge of nausea she had felt. Okay, Christine. Erik said you were brave, time to face this thing.  
Lay out the facts. That was as good a place to start as any. Erik had killed prisoners, plural, before. And tortured them, which was worse than just execution. More nausea, but she slid the window shut and went and sat on the bed. Deep breaths, long and slow, in the stomach as well as the chest, like she was preparing to sing an aria. How could she accept that? How could she possibly deal with that, possibly forgive him? He could have left at any time, run away like he did that circus group -- and what, die? Be dragged back and killed? They tried to kill him as it was.  
Okay. So self-defence was reasonable, but. . . would it have been better if he refused anyway? But then, someone else would just have taken his place. She dropped her head to her hands, dragging her hair away from her face.

She stood up again, and grabbed the phone from the end table. She texted Nadir, the number newly programmed.  
Christine: are you awake?  
Nadir: Yes is everything alright  
Christine: Erik told me about his job in Persia.  
Nadir: Where are you both  
Christine: his house, he let me stay the night  
There was a break before the next text. She considered slipping down the hall to the bathroom to get water, but had no pj’s so was just in the oversized hoodie she had in her car and decided against it.  
Nadir: He probably didnt tell you but he helped almost as many people as he hurt. If it helps  
Christine: how can i forgive him?  
Nadir: I cant tell you how. I dont know when I did, but even he hasnt forgiven himself  
Christine let out a long sigh and crawled back into bed. The light of the screen was making her tired and her feet were getting numb.  
Christine: thanks for answering, good night  
Nadir: Sleep well, Christine. Think about forgiving him. You mean the world to him.

She didn’t respond to that. What would there be to say? She deleted the conversation from her phone and laid down. Did Erik care so deeply for her? He was so passionate, talking about anything he did. Especially music. And so kind to her. And Nadir. Despite his dry humor and standoffish nature, he was only ever kind. And that nature was from others’ rejection, or so he said. She buried her face in the pillow. She was so used to these things be cut and dried answers. Good or evil.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can't have e/c without an umasking, now can we?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for some Erik-typical angst and Christine-typical not taking any of it, with some nice cheese and warmth to top it off. 
> 
> I just wrote four essays and spent 8 hours on campus for finals so comments of any kind would be lovely. Is it rushed? lemme know if it's rushed. Or if you like it enough for later drabbles.

Somehow, some time, she fell asleep. Erik awoke her with a rap on the door early in the morning. She opened the door a crack to avoid him seeing her indecent, and couldn’t quite muster up a smile. She hoped he chalked it up to her not being a morning person. “Good morning. Nadir brought these for you,” he said, holding out a bundle of what she now saw were clothes in his hands. Ungloved hands. Practically a sign of trust from him, wasn’t it? Her own smile might have been a little sideways, but she gave him one.   
“Thank you, and I’ll have to thank him. Is he here?”  
“No, just said he texted you to see if you found a hotel all right, and figured we hadn’t thought ahead. He was right. Do not let him know I said that.”   
This smile was genuine. “I won’t, I promise. I’ll be down in a few.” 

It was a nice pair of athletic pants and a thick sweater, both articles that would fit a range of sizes, which made her smile at the idea of Nadir in the women’s department early in morning, staring at tags in confusion. She couldn’t blame him. He’d even removed the tags, so she had no idea how much to repay him. Too clever by half. She brushed her hair and looked at herself in the mirror as she brushed her teeth. Could she forgive Erik? I never actually blamed him, though, did I? She thought. It was true, she was trying to find reasons to hate him because it was the morally correct thing to do, something a twenty-two year old college student with good grades and a boring job and typical apartment should do. ‘Should.’ She shrugged to herself. She didn’t blame him, so she had nothing to forgive him for. In fact--

In fact. You have got to be kidding. She had a crush. No, crushes were for high school girls or women who weren’t falling for masked killers. She had feelings for Erik. What an idiot.

She went downstairs, where a breakfast worthy of a cooking magazine was waiting for her, and her heart grew three sizes that day. “Merry Christmas,” Erik greeted.  
“Merry Christmas, Erik.” She had managed to forget that it was Christmas. “I. . .may have forgotten a present.”   
“Then we are even, because I had no time to procure one.”   
Breakfast waiting for her? Using words like procure at eight in the morning? How could she not l-- don’tsaythat -- have feelings for him? “I appreciate all this, you know.”   
“Truly, it is the least I can do to be a good host.”  
After her revelations, despite the fact she knew it was a very bad idea to act upon them, she rounded the table and took his hands again. “Take the compliment.”  
He looked at the ground. “Thank you, then.”   
One of her hands came up slowly without her entirely meaning for it to, and she brushed the loose hair that fell in front of his face back behind his ear. He leaned into the touch instinctively. And no wonder. No one, she assumed, had touched him closely in a way that wasn’t to hurt. She let herself brush through it a few more times, playing at adjusting it back from his face. Underneath it, she felt as she passed over it the ties that held the mask on. What would his face look like? He had called it monstrous. Certainly if she could be in love with a masked man, she could be in love with one with a disfigured face. She had seen all kinds of pictures of war victims in her classes, and there was no visage more horrible than her father’s as the cancer and chemo emaciated him near death. Nothing could compare. And she loved him with her whole heart and more. So Erik, certainly, could not be that bad. But how to breach the subject? Oh, by the way Erik, I know we have only seen each other for two days and never mentioned romance, but I might be in love with you. I need to see your face to make sure, though. Yeah, that would go over well. No thanks. She sat down to breakfast, instead.

“Well, this Christmas will be one without a tree or presents, so I say we have to watch a Christmas movie. You like Dr. Suess?”  
“Never seen them.”  
“You haven’t? Where have you been?”  
“Homeless, committing various crimes,” he said evenly. It was a challenge, and she knew it.  
“Ah, right,” she said, laying a hand on his arm. Brightly, she said, “Well, since that can’t be changed, I will have to show you the classics. The Grinch, then a Christmas Carol. Or we can read the original of that one.”  
He was doing The Look again. “I follow your lead.”  
So he said, but he led her to the room with the TV, which was pretty small and basic. It also held his computer, which he said he had built himself because of the specifications for architecture programs and then he got into tech speak and her eyes crossed a little, but she hummed agreement at the right times and tried to memorize the words anyway. She was not surprised to find he had a keyboard set up, as well as some kind of miniature thing that looked like a harp. She thought he was rather surprised when she plopped unceremoniously down next to him on the small loveseat, their legs touching all along the sides. He mashed a few buttons of the remote in surprise and she pretended not to notice.

And so they whiled away their day. It turned out pizza could be delivered on Christmas Day, if you forked over enough money for delivery. And that was a small adventure in itself.  
“I often order from this place. They know the address, just leave the money on the front porch and they will take it and leave the box.”  
“What if they knock?”  
“Then I tell them to go away.”   
“Oh my gosh, they probably think you’re always indecent when you order pizza. Like you only order pizza when you have some crazy party.”   
“When it is completely quiet inside?” He asked sarcastically, but didn’t sound annoyed. Christine snorted. “What?”  
“Nothing, you’ll think I’m weird.”  
“Too late for that, tell me what you’ve thought of.” Now he was definitely amused. She smacked him lightly on the arm.  
“So rude. Okay, well, it just popped into my head that the delivery people totally think you’re either hosting some cult meeting or having an orgy whenever they stop by. I imagine there are bets and everything.”   
“How did you get through life with an imagination like that?”  
“Oh, you know. Overthinking things too much and stressing myself out. The usual.”  
He chuckled at that. “Naturally. Well then, if you think there is a bet going on, shall we liven their Christmas?”  
Her eyes shot to his. “What do you mean by that?”  
“You should open the door. I’ll call you back in from another room.”   
She gaped at him a moment and then began to laugh so hard she had to lean on him for support. “Let’s do it, this will be awesome.”

It was pretty awesome. She’d ruffled up her hair a little and bitten her lips when she heard the tentative knock. She opened the door with a big smile and took the pizza, chatting away and ignoring the gobsmacked look on the guy’s face. “Keep the change,” she said with a wink.  
“Christine, what do you think you’re doing? Get back in here.” Erik’s voice came from right behind her, even though he was in another room. Creepy. She jumped and shared a look with the delivery boy that made him flush to his ears.   
“Coming,” she said in singsong. She took the pizza, closed the door, and managed to make it to the kitchen before promptly dying from laughter. “Did you see the look on his face?” Christine turned to him to see his reaction, and he was giving her The Look but something was different. The laughter faded as she realized he was absolutely checking her out.  
She must have looked pretty good right now, actually. And he clearly wasn’t going to make a move. Which she somehow, against all logic, really really wanted him to do, because those hands could only feel fantastic if they touched her, so she caught her breath and stepped forward.

He took a step back without realizing it and she smiled a little. Another step forward and he was against the counter, so she was able to lay a hand on his chest. He immediately closed his eyes and leaned into her, she rested her forehead against his, carefully avoiding the lip of his mask. “This cannot happen,” he whispered.  
“I beg to differ.”   
“You are only caught up in the time of the holiday. You would regret this.”   
“You can’t tell me what I will or won’t regret, Erik. I won’t regret any of this.”  
He pulled back to look her in the eyes. The moment was so tender she felt like her heart was melting. Like a marshmallow in hot cocoa. He closed his eyes tightly, and she could hear the tension in his voice as he said, “You want something intimate from a man whose face you will never see.”   
“Who says I won’t?” She reached up and brushed through his hair lightly. Some of the tension in him bled away, but not much. “You can show me. I accepted your past, that was by far more of an obstacle than your looks will be.”   
“You are wrong, Christine. You think that now, but. . .it is not normal, how my face affects people. The sheer terror it generates. I cannot see that in your eyes, I would die.”   
“Because you have feelings for me.”   
“Do not make me say it.”   
“All I am saying is that I return them completely. And that means you won’t terrify me.”  
“You’re wrong,” this was a growl, louder than before, and he pulled himself away with force, like there was resistance. She reached out and grabbed his elbow, but he shook her off hard, and she sucked in a breath in surprise. He was angry, and his anger was what the terrifying thing was. He paced, like an animal in a cage. She wondered if he paced like this when he actually was locked up, in that circus he was in, and her heart was breaking for him. If she could just reassure him. . .   
“Erik, please, it won’t be that bad.”   
“You stupid girl, you have no idea what you are talking about and you won’t listen!” Erik rounded on her, keeping his distance. There was no way to read him from this far, but now she was angry.  
“How dare you? You have no right to insult me when I am trying to express my feelings towards you!”  
“That was an insult to you, was it? Poor sheltered Christine, without a care in the world, thinking she knows more about Erik than he does?”  
She cut him off, striding forward and once more capturing him between the counter and herself. “If you put it like that, then yes, I do. And I’ll prove it.”   
“Christine--” 

Without thinking it through, without even meaning to, she had reached back to where she knew the ties were and pulled the mask off. For such a permanent thing, it slid off with ease. Christine, shocked by both her actions and the sight before her, froze with a death grip on the mask in her hand, slightly warm from the heat of his face.

Erik let out a noise that was animalistic in nature, contorting his already twisted face. She was looking at the details now, paper thin skin twisted across too-prominent bone, nearly a complete lack of a nose, and thin lips, the top of which was pulled slightly upwards and if he parted them even a little, as he was doing now, she could see a glimpse of teeth. And Erik was furious. Anger, betrayal, more pain than she could imagine, spelled out across a face that never had to learn to control the emotions it reflected.

“Damn you,” he said, his voice a loud hiss at his proximity to her. He was grasping her right arm in a grip that rivalled what she had on the mask, and she thought he did not realize it was even there. “You little sneak.” The volume was louder, now. “Is this what you wanted to see?” He seemed to realize his grasp on her arm now, and used it to yank her even closer to his face. She was focusing on continuing to breathe, to try and formulate a plan on how to get out of this situation because he was getting closer to violence than she cared for.   
Her eyes darted away, looking for a way to run, and a firm hand on her chin turned her head to force her to look at his face. There was no time to begin to form an opinion on that. After a beat, he shoved her back, away from him, and with her legs already weak she tripped backwards and fell hard onto the floor. “Damn you,” he said again, but this time in more of a whisper. There were tears in his eyes.

They looked at each other for a very long minute before her brain rebooted and she could begin to file information. Erik’s temper was the scariest thing she had ever experienced. He was not deliberately violent in his anger -- but her backside and arm were sore nonetheless. The rage she had just experienced was far more than directed just as her for this action. She knew that instinctively. His rage was for all who had seen his face, the rejection it caused, the pain of it. Fighting back before an attack was even made. She could understand that, but it was still horrifying to have to witness. She tried to swallow and realized her mouth and throat were completely dry. She caught sight of the mask, still in her grasp, and looked once more at his face. 

Erik had sunk down to his knees, joining her on the floor, and had one hand splayed ineffectually across his face to hide it. Her eyes searched it, taking it in. The shock of being yelled at and manhandled was wearing off, leaving in its place a restless anger at how he behaved. But there was no disgust, unless it was how he treated her. His face was not the problem here.

She drew herself up. “Stand up,” she ordered, doing so herself. The mask went on the counter she positioned herself in front of. Erik drew himself to his feet too, unable to look at her and now completely silent. “That hurt, you know, what you just pulled. You’ll get to see your fingerprints on my arm.” She was trying for fury, but her voice caught in her throat and there was heat behind her eyes. He opened his mouth but didn’t say anything. “Not to mention your little tirade about my intelligence that really did not need to happen.” She waited. “Anything to say about it?”  
“What would you have me say?” he croaked out. At least his voice was as gone as hers.  
“Be creative,” she said with a slight curl of her lip. She didn’t like the deflection when it was clear he should apologize.  
He ducked his head more, and looked the picture of defeat. “Christine. I am. . .so sorry I harmed you. I do not expect forgiveness for that. Nor should I have turned on you like that. My anger was not at you entirely. Yet it was you I took it out on. I’m sorry, Christine.”   
She sighed, the fight draining out of her all at once and leaving her exhausted. She took a few steps closer. “Look at me, Erik,” she asked, and her fingers on his chin to direct his gaze up made his breath go shallow. “I don’t quite understand, but I am starting to. I forgive you, Erik. I shouldn’t have taken your mask like that, it was a horrid thing to do. “  
“N-no, it--” She brushed her thumb along his cheek when she realized he was trying to make her feel better.  
“There’s no need to defend it. We both messed up. We’re both sorry.”  
“Christine, how. . .you are looking at, you are here. . .”  
“I said I had feelings for you Erik. Your face is not what would ever change that. As for your anger, we will just have to see how it goes. I was scared, Erik.”   
He reached out, hesitant, and she stepped into his embrace, one hand lightly in his hair and one on his back. His stayed at his sides awkwardly for a moment, but he soon held her back, firmly, as if gathering strength from her.

When they finally pulled apart, she couldn’t help but stand on her toes to kiss his forehead. The reaction was such a sweet gasp she kissed his cheek as well, and now he was staring at her with tears in his eyes, which prompted tears of her own, and she leaned into him, waited for a beat, then kissed him on the lips. It was chaste, but there was such longing in it she made a small noise in the back of her throat.   
“Water. We need water, and to sit down.” Christine suggested. Erik nodded once. He looked to his mask and she touched his hand. “Not yet, please.” The tears in his eyes threatened to spill and she wiped them away, then broke from him and sat on her spot on the couch in the music room.

When he joined her, the mask was in his hand, and she took it gently and set it on the end table. It must be a great security to him, and a great vulnerability when he was without it nearby. She patted the couch directly next to her, and when he sat she turned to face him more easily. “Christine, I. . . you said you had feelings for me?”  
She thought about what she should say, but there seemed no other option in the moment, so fragile and tentative, then to tell the truth. “I do not expect you to return the feeling, but Erik,” she took a deep breath and met his eyes. “I love you.”  
All the air left him in a long exhale that left his shoulders bent. “Please,” he shook his head, hair falling into his face, “do you mean that? You can’t lie, can’t exaggerate, not now.”   
“Erik, I would never lie about something like this. I love you. I fell in love with you when you offered me tea, I think,” she said with a small watery giggle.   
“I think I have loved you since I first heard your voice. Not singing, as heavenly as it was. But you were yelling at Meg in the background, and then greeted me like I was a permanent part of your life and you wanted so badly to hear me.”   
Christine wiped away her own tears. “I did, you are! This isn’t over when I go back to California.”   
“Can I. . .can I kiss you?”  
“Anytime you like,” she responded, and he kissed her. It was gentle, but with waves of passion behind it that made her deepen it. A tongue along his bottom lip made him gasp and she took the opportunity to deepen the kiss. For a moment she was exploring him with her tongue, but he soon joined in. When they broke for air, she was practically in his lap. “I love you,” she said fondly.  
“I love you, Christine.” 

They held each other like that for long enough she had to stretch her legs, and a thought occurred to her. “I can’t wait to see Nadir’s face.”  
Erik snorted. “He’ll have a heart attack and then I will have to bury him in the backyard.”   
“No way, he’s going to make us celebration cookies.”   
“If he recovers, perhaps.”   
“You should text him.”   
Erik pondered the idea. “What would I say?” She tapped her chin thoughtfully, and held out her hand. Erik opened his phone to his contact and handed it to her.  
Erik: Christine and I confessed our mutual undying love and we made out.  
She handed the phone back without hitting send and waggled her eyebrows. 

After the tears and anger, it was a blessing to see the sparkling amber eyes, the tilt of the head, and the growing smirk on Erik’s face. He looked upwards as if for guidance, then hit send.   
Christine cackled as the phone rang less than ten seconds later. “No, no, don’t answer it. He’ll just have to wonder. Besides, I want to spend more time alone with you.”

So for the next ten minutes they sat on the couch talking about mundane life, their jobs and customer service and schoolwork. Christine was sitting up and looking down at Erik, whose head was on a pillow on her lap. He gestured expressively as he talked, and she stroked his hair from his face and nodded or shook her head at the right moments. Right as she was saying, “I do love your hair, I never expected to like long hair but its so--” there was a knock on the door that was more like a battering ram.  
“Nadir’s here!” Erik said with annoyance. He reached for his mask, looking at her almost for approval.   
“I think he will react less than you believe, but for the sake of his heart, it would be best not to surprise him too much.” His heart and yours too. Erik was the one who would have to overcome his face, now.  
She opened the door with a shit-eating grin to Nadir’s almost frantic expression. “Why hello. We didn’t expect you this fine Christmas.”   
He sputtered a little. “I got a text.”   
“Oh, that. I wrote it myself,” she said, and turned so he could enter. He did so mechanically, and she led him to the kitchen. “Sit, sit. Could you make some tea, Erik?”  
“Way ahead of you.” He placed a steaming mug of chaminole down before Nadir. She giggled as he took a sip and burned his tongue.  
“Are you here to congratulate us?”  
“Something like that,” he muttered. Feeling brave, Christine circled around behind Erik and embraced him, leaning her cheek against his shoulder after pecking his jaw with a kiss. Erik melted against her, holding her hands in his securely. Nadir smiled genuinely. “You are both going to be the death of me.”  
“Erik was convinced we would give you a heart attack.”   
“And you?”  
“I was hoping for cookies.”  
“Another day,” he said dryly.   
He left rather quickly after that, probably to reassert that the world was still turning properly. 

“I forgot, in all the fuss. Come, I have a song to play you.”   
It was part two of the duet she had sung before, and joining her voice with his now, more love shone through than in anything she had heard before.

In each other’s arms an hour later, she sighed against him, “I have to go. Flights are going to be hard to find as it is.”  
“When will I see you again?”  
“I graduate in less than half a year. I think I can rather see myself as a New York girl.”  
“I will have a job for you, by then. Singing anywhere you want. I have a rather large savings.”  
“And I will only work somewhere based on my merit, thanks so much. But I’ll remember that when I want to go out to a fancy restaurant.”   
“Ahh--” She gave him a look. He sighed. “Only for you, Christine, only for you.”  
She placed a hand on his cheek and kissed him. “And I will be understanding of you, too.”

He did go to the airport with her, bundled up as if from the cold, which it was, but acting like the most suspicious person in the world. Hopefully her short, blonde, blue-eyed presence disarmed people? Or made people think he kidnapped her or something. Oh well. All she knew for sure was that Meg was going to tell her ‘I told you so’ until she died.


End file.
